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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25607650">paper hearts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/soperiso/pseuds/soperiso'>soperiso</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fantastic Four, Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - To All the Boys I've Loved Before Fusion, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Inspired by To All The Boys I've Loved Before, M/M, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Sad moments, Spideytorch Week 2020, Teenage Peter Parker/Teenage Johnny Storm, but the overall vibe is upbeat, hehe, he’s an asshole is what he is, johnny is the laura jean equivalent, so get ready for that, spideytorch - Freeform, you’ll never guess who peter is</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:15:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,330</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25607650</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/soperiso/pseuds/soperiso</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“—and then Parker called me a rich asshole! I mean, who says that?” Johnny says, gesturing wildly with his spoon. </p><p>Dorrie giggles into her hand. “I mean… it sounds like you were kind of acting like one, hun.”</p><p>“I know, I know. It’s just…” Johnny sighs, digging into his ice cream with a little more force than necessary, “He makes me so <em>mad</em>. And I don’t even know why! Just one word out of his dumb mouth and I’m ready to slap a bitch.”</p><p>“Please don’t slap a bitch,” she says around a mouthful of raspberry sorbet, “The last thing you need is detention.”</p><p>—</p><p>This is a SpideyTorch <em>To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before</em> AU, so get ready for love declarations, teenage drama, and some not-so fake dating.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker/Johnny Storm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>73</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>SpideyTorch Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. goodbye, love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>god i’m so proud of the title. get it? paper hearts? bc he writes love letters? and the letters are written on paper? yeah</p><p>anyway i have a lot planned for this one and i’m really excited about it so i hope you enjoy!!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Johnny Storm doesn’t need romance. </p><p> </p><p>He’s got a ton of people practically lined up to take him out. He’s never had to spend a Friday night alone. People stare, and he preens under their gaze. They want him, and he wants them to want him. </p><p> </p><p>He’s never been romantically told ’I love you.’</p><p> </p><p>He’s only said it once, and that one time was enough to make him never want to say it again. </p><p> </p><p>So, yeah. Johnny Storm doesn’t need romance.</p><p> </p><p>Some people make him crave it, though. The ones who come for the show and stay for the person behind it. They’re few and far between, but Johnny appreciates them more than anything else. </p><p> </p><p>He’s learned better than to tell them that.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, he keeps it to himself. Every new love is like a Mento that’s been dropped into the soda bottle that is his heart. If he keeps the lid on, the whole thing will blow. So, he’s got an outlet.</p><p> </p><p>He hasn’t had to use it in a while, thankfully, but every now and then he can’t stop himself from reading through every love letter he’s ever written.</p><p> </p><p>There are five, in total. Five letters, five loves, five disappointments. The letters are a mess—he doesn’t sit around for hours, trying to think of the perfect line; he simply lets his every feeling pour onto the page. They aren’t pretty, but they don’t need to be.</p><p> </p><p>They’re just for him, anyway. </p><p> </p><p>Some of the people he wrote them for are people he loved forever ago. Reading them reminds him of how strongly he felt, and just how much has changed. Some of the people he wrote them for are people he still loves. Reading those letters is more painful because it reminds him of how much he’ll never have.</p><p> </p><p>He puts the addresses on them. He doesn’t know why. It’s not like he <em> wants </em> them to be sent out. He shouldn’t address them. And yet, he does.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes flit from the letters in his hands to the clock on his wall. It’s eight o’clock—he should really get going to that house party Wyatt told him about.</p><p> </p><p>After carefully packing the letters into their little red box, he slides it under his bed.</p><p> </p><p><em> Time to put the emotions away and bring out the charm, </em>he thinks, as he agonizes over finding the outfit for the party. He’s Johnny Storm—he has to have style. Finally deciding upon something to wear, he moves over to the other side of his room.</p><p> </p><p>Leaning in close to the mirror on his wall, he pokes his favorite pair of little gold hoops through his ears. Nothing completes a look like a pair of earrings.</p><p> </p><p>Hair combed, face washed, ready to go, Johnny makes his way to the address he was given. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t realize that the red box sticks out from under his bed, just enough to be seen.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>The party is... good. He’s taking a little breather in the kitchen before heading back into the main area. He’s drained. Tired. It’s been a long week.</p><p> </p><p>Parties like this give him energy, usually. Put Johnny in a little room all by himself and he’ll go apeshit. Drop him into the center of a raging party, though, and he’ll have the time of his life basking in everyone else’s gaze. Tonight, though, all of the energy at this party couldn’t perk him up. He’s not sure why.</p><p> </p><p>He has friends, so he doesn’t know why he feels so damn <em> lonely </em>. He has people who he wouldn’t trade anything for. Maybe he just needs to remind his dumb heart of that fact.</p><p> </p><p>There’s Wyatt Wingfoot, the best friend a guy could ask for. They met in seventh grade and have been thick as thieves ever since. Wyatt is the jockiest jock to ever jock. He’s the quarterback of the football team and he’s built like a fucking truck—just gigantic. He’s dating Jennifer Walters, the captain of the lacrosse team. Johnny’s pretty sure she’s on the debate team, as well. </p><p> </p><p>Wyatt has a letter. And if Johnny’s still a little in love with him… well, he doesn’t have to know. </p><p> </p><p>And then there’s Dorrie Evans, another one of his best friends. They’ve known each other <em> forever. </em>She’s the sweetest—the type of person who would stop on the side of the road to help a lost dog find its home. She’s really into that art stuff, too, always doodling something. He had a massive crush on her in sixth grade, but he never acted on it. They’re better as friends, anyway. </p><p> </p><p>Dorrie has a letter. </p><p> </p><p>He has his family, as well. He couldn’t be more grateful for them—Sue, Reed, Ben, the kids. </p><p> </p><p>They’re his everything. </p><p> </p><p>He’s got some other people who aren’t his everything, but are his… something. Daken, for one. What happened between them is a bit… messy. To say the least. Johnny wanted all of Daken, but Daken didn’t want all of Johnny. It was complicated. </p><p> </p><p>Daken has a letter. </p><p> </p><p>Even though Johnny ended things with Daken, there was a time when he loved him. Sometimes, he wonders if he could’ve made things work if he’d just toned things down. Other times, he’s glad he didn’t.</p><p> </p><p>There are two other people who have letters: Crystal Amaquelin and Peter Parker.</p><p> </p><p>Crystal, from a summer oh-so long ago. She grabbed Johnny’s attention and didn’t let it go. She’s powerful, a force to be reckoned with. Johnny told her he loved her. It didn’t go well. They weren’t able to patch things up before she moved away. He misses her.</p><p> </p><p>Parker, from middle school. They kissed one (1) time during a game of spin the bottle, and pre-teen Johnny couldn’t help but fall in love with him. He’s one of the main reasons Johnny was able to get over Dorrie. They go to high-school together, now. They run in <em> vastly </em> different social circles, so Johnny doesn’t get much of a chance to talk to him. That’s probably for the best, though, since Parker’s kind of an asshole now. </p><p> </p><p>“Johnny? What are you doing in here?” </p><p> </p><p>Johnny sharply looks up, startled out of his reverie. “Oh, hey Wyatt. Just taking a breather.”</p><p> </p><p>Wyatt looks skeptical. “A breather? You? What’s up? The Johnny Storm I know would be absolutely throwing it <em> back </em> to <em> Wasabi </em> in there right now.” He gestures back to the main area.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny shrugs. “I don’t know, man. I guess I’m just more tired than usual. I’m out of it.”</p><p> </p><p>Wyatt contemplates something before hooking a strong elbow through Johnny’s. “Come on,” he says, nodding his head towards the door, “Let’s get out of here.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny obliges, letting Wyatt drag him through the crowd and out into the nighttime autumn air, the stars and the moon being the only illuminating presences. It’s the time of year when the leaves have yet to fall but they’re turning orange, whole trees taken over by the color seemingly overnight. The air is cooling, the bugs and other various creatures beginning to take refuge in preparation for the brutal winter. </p><p> </p><p>Wyatt leads them to his car, where he makes sure Johnny gets comfortably into the passenger seat before driving them to somewhere Johnny recognizes all too well: The Coffee Bean, which is only the best coffee shop in all of New York. Johnny loves it.</p><p> </p><p>The inside of the café is warm, smelling of its usual blend of coffee and cooking pastries. The brown tones of the walls and furniture give it a homely feel. Wyatt orders for both of them, already knowing Johnny’s order, as Johnny secures their seats on the comfiest booth—there’s a surprising amount of people here for it being the middle of the night.</p><p> </p><p>Wyatt sits across from Johnny, sliding his drink over the length of the table and into Johnny’s hands. </p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” Johnny murmurs. </p><p> </p><p>Taking a long sip of his drink, Wyatt doesn’t say anything, waiting for Johnny to speak.</p><p> </p><p>“D’you ever feel like you’re gonna be alone forever?” Johnny says, swirling his drink around in its cup. Might as well just dive right in—he knows Wyatt won’t drop this until Johnny gives him some genuine answers. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s just,” Johnny continues, “I get with so many people, right? You’d think at least one of them would like to stay.”</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, man, you can’t think like that. You’ll find someone. For every garbage can, there’s a lid,” Wyatt says, very matter-of-factly. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny can’t help but laugh. “What even is that saying? A garbage can? Really?”</p><p> </p><p>Wyatt grins. “Hey, look, you’re smiling. My bad analogies are good for something.” He sobers up. “Seriously, though, talk to me. You never seemed to care about this before, so what changed?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know. I’ve always been so good at not thinking about it, y’know? I never needed romance. I still don’t, but I guess I’ve been thinking about it more, which is making me want it more. I don’t know. Does that make sense?” Johnny says, sliding his cup back and forth from hand to hand. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, that makes sense, and it's telling me that we need to find you somebody.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh yeah?” Johnny raises his eyebrows, “Who?”</p><p> </p><p>Wyatt purses his lips.</p><p> </p><p>“Exactly,” Johnny says, moving his cup out from in front of him and dropping his head onto his crossed arms, “I’m doomed to be alone forever.”</p><p> </p><p>Wyatt rolls his eyes, fondly. “Dramatic ass.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not dramatic, I’m emotional! There’s a difference!”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” Wyatt says.</p><p> </p><p>Behind Wyatt, Johnny spots a familiar mess of black hair sitting in the booth next to theirs. </p><p> </p><p>Wyatt sees him looking, and turns around to look as well. “Is that—“</p><p> </p><p>“Franklin?” Johnny calls out. </p><p> </p><p>The boy turns, pretending to be shocked to see him. “Uncle Johnny, hey.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’re you doing here?” Johnny asks. “It’s really late. Don’t you have a curfew?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh come <em> on, </em> I’m not that much younger than you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh, yeah you are. You’re, like, twelve,” Johnny teases. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m fourteen!”</p><p> </p><p>“Still a baby.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, my God. Whatever, I’m just here with a friend,” Franklin says, gesturing to the girl seated across from him. She waves. Johnny waves back.</p><p> </p><p>Then, looking at Franklin, Johnny frowns. “How did I not notice you before?”</p><p> </p><p>Franklin shrugs, humming in that ’I don't know’ sort of way. </p><p> </p><p>Then, Johnny realizes something. “Aw, hell. How much of our conversation did you hear?”</p><p> </p><p>Franklin offers him a little smirk. “Enough to know you’re a sad, lonely little man.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re a little shit, did you know that?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s something I pride myself on, yes.”</p><p> </p><p>Running a hand over his face, Johnny sighs. “Just… keep it to yourself, yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>Franklin hums noncommittally. “I’m gonna go back to my booth. Bye!”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s definitely not keeping that to himself,” Wyatt says, chuckling lightly.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny groans, letting his head fall into his hands. The last thing he needs is for Val to hear that he’s having relationship struggles—knowing her, she'd find some way to try to help him, which would be embarrassing for everyone involved.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>The next day seems to drag on forever. Johnny floats from class to class, exhausted from the previous night. After the party, he and Wyatt had stayed out for hours, just talking. </p><p> </p><p>Last night reminded him of why he most definitely keeps his stupid feelings for Wyatt to himself; he can’t lose him. If Johnny said anything, it would shatter what they have. He knows (hopes) Wyatt wouldn’t ditch him altogether, but he does know that things would be… different. Strained. </p><p> </p><p>He’ll never find out, though, so Johnny has nothing to worry about. Shaking such awful thoughts from his head, he tries to pay at least a little bit of attention to his teacher.</p><p> </p><p>He starts to zone out again, but is brought back sharply when his teacher says the words “partner project.”</p><p> </p><p>The teacher must see him immediately eye Dorrie—his only real friend in the class—because he continues with a terrible, horrible, no-good, “<em> Assigned </em> partners,” before pulling a list out of his pocket and listing off pairs. </p><p> </p><p>Internally groaning, Johnny prepares to be partnered with someone awful, like that Thanos guy. Yikes. He would actually make Johnny do work, since he’s so crazy about that balance stuff. And he probably wouldn’t shut up about that goth girl. Johnny can’t remember her name. It might be Death…? Anyway, yeah, he <em> really </em> doesn’t want to be paired with Thanos. </p><p> </p><p>“...Dorrie Evans and Gwen Stacy, Jean Grey and Scott Summers, and Peter Parker and Johnny Storm,” the teacher says, then puts the list back in his pocket. </p><p> </p><p>Parker’s not ideal, but he’s better than Thanos. Johnny will take what he can get. </p><p> </p><p>He waits for Parker to come over to his desk to work on the project, but Parker isn’t moving. He catches his eye and Parker raises an eyebrow, gesturing for Johnny to come to his desk. The <em> audacity. </em> People always come to <em> Johnny </em>. He shouldn’t have to get up for a nerd like him.</p><p> </p><p>Regardless, it doesn’t seem like Parker’s gonna budge, so Johnny sighs and plops down into the desk next to him. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m not gonna lie, I have no clue what we’re doing,” Johnny says, examining his fingernails.</p><p> </p><p>Parker gives him an unamused look. “Weren’t you listening?”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s none of your business,” Johnny says, crossing his arms over his chest. He notices Parker’s eyes follow the movement.</p><p> </p><p>“It actually is, if we’re ever gonna get this project done,” Parker says, annoyed and leaning ever-so-slightly closer. </p><p> </p><p>“<em> We’re </em> not doing anything. <em> You’re </em> the one who’s gonna do the project while <em> I </em> pretend to watch,” Johnny says, enjoying how Peter visibly fumes at the statement; he’s too easy to antagonize. </p><p> </p><p>“No, you asshole, I’m not doing all the work here. You’re helping, whether you like it or not!”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny gives him a sarcastic smile. “The difference between me working on this or not is you getting a good grade. Do you really want this project to look like a fifth grader did it? Ask anyone, there’s nothing up here,” he says, gesturing to his head. </p><p> </p><p>Peter runs an exhausted hand over his face. “Fine. Fine! I’ll do it while you scroll through Instagram or whatever it is you rich assholes do.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny ignores him, trying to feel smug rather than hurt. And if he does scroll through Instagram, that’s his business. Who cares what Parker thinks? Definitely not Johnny. Fuck that guy, with his dumb hair and his ugly glasses and stupid sweater. Johnny can’t believe he was ever in love with him.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>After school, Johnny’s walking to his favorite burger joint when he spots Dorrie standing next to the road, repeatedly checking her phone. </p><p> </p><p>He comes up behind her and rests his chin on her shoulder. “What’s up, buttercup?”</p><p> </p><p>Dorrie jumps, letting out an ungraceful screech and nearly dropping her phone. </p><p> </p><p>Standing up straight, Johnny can’t help but laugh. “Sorry, but not really.”</p><p> </p><p>Dorrie smacks him on the shoulder, playful fire in her eyes. “You’re an ass.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny winks. “And you love me for it,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” she says, fondly rolling her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“What’re you doing out here? Do you have a hot date?” he says, waggling his eyebrows. </p><p> </p><p>She sighs, lifting her phone. “I was supposed to.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny cringes sympathetically. “Got stood up?”</p><p> </p><p>“Kind of, they had a family emergency,” she says, a wry smile on her lips. </p><p> </p><p>“Yikes,” Johnny says, pulling her into a hug, “C’mon, let’s go to that ice cream place you like. I’ll pay.”</p><p> </p><p>“Johnny, it’s September.”</p><p> </p><p>“Didn’t you hear, Dorrie? A hoe <em> never </em> gets cold.”</p><p> </p><p>She laughs into his shoulder, her curly hair tickling his chin.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright,” she says, “Lead the way, Jay.”</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>“—and then he called me a rich asshole! I mean, who says that?” Johnny says, gesturing wildly with his spoon. </p><p> </p><p>Dorrie giggles into her hand. “I mean… it sounds like you were kind of acting like one, hun.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know, I know. It’s just…” Johnny sighs, digging into his ice cream with a little more force than necessary, “He makes me so <em> mad. </em>And I don’t even know why! Just one word out of his dumb mouth and I’m ready to slap a bitch.”</p><p> </p><p>“Please don’t slap a bitch,” she says around a mouthful of raspberry sorbet, “The last thing you need is detention.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sue would end my life if I got another one.”</p><p> </p><p>Dorrie nods very seriously. “You would quite literally be terminated. Nothing left, not even a finger.”</p><p> </p><p>They stare at each other with overly-dramatic forlorn expressions for one (1) second before breaking down into laughter. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Dorrie says, her laughter subsiding, “I think you should actually make an effort with him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Who, Parker? Are you kidding?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I’m for real. The project is gonna be hell if you two don’t start to get along.”</p><p> </p><p>“But I—but he’s just—I can’t—argh!”</p><p> </p><p>“Take your time.”</p><p> </p><p>“I hate the fact that you have a point. I guess I could… try. No promises.”</p><p> </p><p>Dorrie pats his hand, which is resting on the table. “That’s all you can do.”</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Johnny arrives at his home, the towering Baxter Building greeting him like an old friend. Hopping onto an elevator, he takes it up to his family’s penthouse on one of the highest floors.</p><p> </p><p>He makes a beeline for his room, thinking that re-reading his old letter for Parker might remind him why he ever tolerated him so that he can actually make an effort to follow Dorrie’s advice.</p><p> </p><p>The only issue?</p><p> </p><p>The little red box is nowhere to be found. </p><p> </p><p>“No, no, no, no, no,” Johnny says, wildly rummaging through the mess that is his room in hopes that the box just got moved or something.</p><p> </p><p>After twenty whole minutes of fruitless searching, he moves into a miserable heap of limbs on the floor. </p><p> </p><p>Sue, who was just passing by his open door, pauses, leaning in through the door frame. “Johnny? Are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Do I <em> look </em> okay?” Johnny says, his voice muffled. </p><p> </p><p>“No, you don’t,” Sue says, carefully stepping over the things strewn across Johnny’s floor to kneel beside him, resting a calming hand on his back, “Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>“You know that box mom gave me? Before she died?”</p><p> </p><p>Sue hums her affirmation. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s gone. Everything. The box, the letters. God, the <em> letters. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure it’s really gone?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I looked everywhere. They're <em> gone </em> gone,” Johnny says, pushing himself up into a seated position and leaning against his bed, trying not to let his voice crack. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, Johnny. I know how much they mean to you. Do you want me to stay or do you want to be alone?”</p><p> </p><p>“Alone is good,” Johnny says, his voice small, broken. </p><p> </p><p>He watches as she leaves, feeling as though a tsunami is crashing against him, pushing him back, back, back and far away from whatever amount of ‘okay’ he had reached. Drowning in his own mistakes, he wishes he’d never written those damn letters. </p><p> </p><p>He can’t bring himself to think about what might happen if everyone received them—the friendships he’d undoubtedly lose. Wyatt and Dorrie wouldn’t want to be around him anymore. Daken would think he still had a chance with Johnny. Parker would never let him forget it. God, everything would go to shit.</p><p> </p><p>He hopes against all hope that, whatever happened to the letters, they didn’t get sent out. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if they did. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. please tell me you're joking</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Letters tend to find their recipients and actions have consequences.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>wow that was a long wait, sorry guys! i'll try to update more regularly in the future lmao</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The day after the letter incident is… surprisingly boring. No angry friends, no shocked science partners. Johnny can almost relax.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s the day </span>
  <em>
    <span>after</span>
  </em>
  <span> the day after the incident that has Johnny wishing he didn’t have to leave his nice, warm, safe bed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He groans, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes and resisting the urge to fake sick. It’s a ticking time bomb, he swears. Letters take a few days to mail, right? They could be en route and Johnny wouldn’t know until they arrive at their destination. This is ass. Utter ass. There’s, like, the slightest chance that he just misplaced them, but he knows—deep down—that he’s not gonna find them anywhere good. He didn’t wake up to any angry text messages, which is nice. At least the bomb hasn’t gone off yet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He comes out of his room, freshly showered, and goes for a comforting bowl of Lucky Charms. He could use some luck right about now. Sue watches him with those annoyingly concerned eyes that he’s been met with ever since their little talk. It’s nice that she cares, he supposes, but it would be better if she could just act as if everything’s fine—l</span>
  <span>ike he’s trying so hard to do. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The walk to school is uneventful. It gives him time to think about the royal shitshow that his life could become. Unfortunately, his mind only supplies possible problems rather than any solutions, which is so, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>helpful.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Johnny is practically crawling out of his skin through first and second period, repeatedly eyeing the ever-disappointing clock on the wall. Finally—after a near-unbearable amount of hours that felt like eons—the lunch bell rings, and Johnny practically sprints to the cafeteria. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Settling at his usual table, he waits for his friends to arrive. He doesn’t expect Peter Parker to storm over to him, slapping an all-too-familiar paper down in front of him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His heart leaps into his throat. His breath catches. Is the sky falling? Johnny’s pretty sure the sky’s falling. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can explain,” he blurts, right as Peter demands: “Explain.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uhm, letters?” Is all Johnny has to offer, unfortunately. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter leans into Johnny’s space, eyes ice cold. “I swear, if this is some prank you and your asshole friends are pulling—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not, I promise!” Johnny says, lifting his hands in surrender. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow, and gesturing with his hand for Johnny to continue. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can we start by saying that I wrote that when I was twelve? I feel like that’s really important for you to know.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, great, preteen Johnny was ‘So in love with me that it made his chest feel like it was about to throw up puppies,’ good to know. Mind telling me why you decided to send it out now?” Peter says, his tone flat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I was getting to that! I didn’t send them out—I have no clue who did!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s face contorts into a frown, disapproving and annoyed. Johnny didn’t think he could feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>worse </span>
  </em>
  <span>about the situation, but the guy has a </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean </span>
  </em>
  <span>disappointed face. It’s almost as bad as Sue’s. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Jesus,” Johnny says, his eyes stuck on two figures over Peter’s shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Peter says, looking behind himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wyatt.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dorrie.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And they have </span>
  <em>
    <span>letters.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fear grips his throat, makes his breaths quicker, sends his stomach into his feet. It’s not like he has a way to get out of this, though—unless he wants to throw himself out the first-floor window and make a run for it. Actually… that plan is getting more appealing by the second. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then, a second plan pops into his mind. It’s perfect. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> end in disaster, but Johnny doesn’t want to think about that. He has to prove that he’s not in love with them, no matter the cost.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s voice breaks through Johnny’s thoughts. Act now, think later. That’s practically Johnny’s life motto.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yikes, Storm, just when a guy was feeling spec- Mmph!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Johnny holds Peter close to himself, all smushed noses and clashing teeth. It’s entirely unpleasant. Until it isn’t. Some sort of switch flips, and they start to move in sync. What once was ferocious and harried becomes soft and intimate. It’s like they’d done this a million times before. Johnny’s not going to go as far as to say there were ‘fireworks’ or anything like that, but there was definitely a spark of something Johnny would </span>
  <em>
    <span>very much </span>
  </em>
  <span>like to look into further. For science, obviously.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Someone coughs behind them, and Johnny’s eyes snap open—which, when had they closed?—to reveal the much-unwelcome sight of the two people he’d like to see least. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Johnny and Peter break apart, both wiping their mouths and trying to fight back a blush.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, hey guys,” Johnny says, trying to play it cool, “What’s up? What are the haps? The happenings.” He is not good at playing it cool.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re joking, right?” Dorrie says. She looks at Wyatt, “Please tell me he’s joking.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think he’s joking,” Wyatt says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who is he?” She asks, gesturing sharply to Peter, who shifts uncomfortably.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s my, uh… boyfriend,” Johnny says, slinging an arm over Peter’s shoulders. He brings his mouth to Peter’s ear, almost close enough to brush it, and whispers: “Play along.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter gives him quite the side-eye but doesn’t say anything.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Johnny, what are you doing?” Wyatt says, eyes full of concern, “I know you know what this is,” he lifts the letter, “And we need to talk about it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s nothing to talk about,” Johnny says, perhaps with a bit too much force, if Dorrie and Wyatt’s expressions are anything to go by. However, he doesn’t stop there. “I wrote those forever ago and I wish I never had! They’re stupid things from my past that you were never supposed to see. There’s nothing to talk about because those letters don’t mean anything anymore—they haven’t for a long time. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave us alone.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dorrie and Wyatt look stricken, and Johnny immediately feels terrible.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m-” he begins, but Dorrie cuts him off.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I think you’ve said enough. Call us when you’re done being an asshole.” She storms off, and Wyatt follows without so much as a look towards Johnny.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Johnny flops onto one of the uncomfortable cafeteria chairs and digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Idiot, idiot, idiot. You’ve managed to make the worst-case scenario even </span>
  </em>
  <span>more </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrible</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter sits next to him, placing his backpack on the floor and letting his knee bump into Johnny’s. “You okay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Johnny crosses his arms over his chest. “Not really, no. Don’t know why I’m telling </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> that, though.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If you’d rather be alone-“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A moment passes in which they don’t say anything—Peter unsure of what to say and Johnny trapped in his own mind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” Peter says, decidedly looking at the window rather than at Johnny, “Boyfriend, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, God,” Johnny says, his head falling back into his hands. “I can’t believe I’m about to ask this, but can you pretend that I wasn’t lying? Just until I get this sorted out with my friends?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>And so that Daken leaves me alone</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he almost adds.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter sighs. “Yeah, okay.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Johnny could cry with relief. Or maybe that’s just the despair. “Thanks, man.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter nods. “We have to have rules though.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Rules? You’re joking.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Humor me. Don’t forget—I’m doing this for you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Johnny gestures for him to go on.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, first rule: no more kissing,” Peter says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How on Earth is anyone gonna believe we’re dating if we don’t kiss?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shh! Second rule is that you can’t make me go to your football games.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, come on! You should come to, like, one game a month. Boyfriends are supposed to be supportive.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter groans. “Fine, I’ll come to one game a month.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And you have to paint my name on your forehead.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter glares at him, but Johnny doesn’t budge. Peter nods stiffly. Their charade probably won’t even be going on by the time Johnny has his next football game, but it’s still a victory for him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Johnny adds, “And we can’t tell anyone.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not a single person?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No one. If people were to find out… yikes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s fair,” Peter says, grabbing his backpack off of the floor and standing up as the bell rings. “Is that everything, then?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I think so.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“See ya, lover boy.” Peter offers him a two-finger salute as he heads off to his next class.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>—</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Johnny gets home, he texts the group chat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>flame brain:</b>
  <span> can we talk?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>a-dorrie-able:</b>
  <span> i don’t know, can you stop being an ass?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>flame brain:</b>
  <span> i’m really sorry about earlier. can i come over?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>flame brain:</b>
  <span> please?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>tall, dark, and handsome:</b>
  <span> my place or dorrie’s?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>a-dorrie-able:</b>
  <span> mine is closest to everyone</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>flame brain:</b>
  <span> headed over. i’m sorry.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>a-dorrie-able:</b>
  <span> just get over here</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Johnny sighs, pocketing his phone and grabbing his keys off of the counter on his way out the door.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stops at a cafe to buy three hot chocolates, making sure to get Dorrie extra whip and Wyatt almond milk instead of normal milk (he says it gives him indigestion).</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He pauses on Dorrie’s doorstep to take a deep breath, then knocks on the door with his elbow, careful not to jostle the tray of coffees too much. Wyatt opens the door, gesturing for Johnny to come in. When he enters, Dorrie’s sitting on top of the kitchen counter. She doesn’t look happy to see him, but he can’t blame her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They accept the hot chocolates when he offers them, something softening in their eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Roof?” Dorrie says, but she doesn’t wait for an answer.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When they’re up on top of the house—the sun setting over the skyscrapers further into the city and casting a warm, orange glow over them—Johnny thinks things might be okay. She brought them to their spot, the place they always go when they’re here. That has to mean something.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The part of the roof they sit on is flat, so they don’t have to worry about sliding off. Instead, they sit on the edge and allow their legs to dangle off the side of the house. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Start talking,” Dorrie says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry for being such a jerk earlier. I got… I got really scared. I thought you wouldn’t want anything to do with me after the letters.” He takes a sip of his hot chocolate. He doesn’t taste it. “I didn’t think. I just… acted. I didn’t mean any of the things I said.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re an idiot. You know that, right?” Dorrie says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wyatt looks down at his cup. “Johnny, how could you think we’d ever stop liking you because of something like this?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Johnny says, “I just panicked.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We love you, man. Even if you are an idiot,” Wyatt says, bumping his shoulder against Johnny’s.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I have to ask, though,” Dorrie says, “Are you still in love with me? I won’t be mad if you say yes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Johnny chuckles. “Don’t worry, you’re both safe. For now. I’ve got a boyfriend, remember?” He says it jokingly, but Dorrie and Wyatt’s faces remind him that they… don't know that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t even know you guys got along,” Wyatt says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He, uh,” Johnny says, pausing to bite his inner cheek as he thinks of something to say. He settles on the truth—at least, a half-truth. “He got one of the letters before you guys did—you know how mail is—and we started talking. He’s, uh, he’s really great. And now we’re dating.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dorrie frowns. “Uh-huh.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Johnny can tell that she wants to ask more questions, but the pleading in his eyes must be enough to make her drop it. He wants to tell them—he really does—but he can’t. He doesn’t want there to be even a shadow of a doubt in their minds that he’s still in love with them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” she says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, I do.” Johnny smiles, a little bit. He has absolutely no clue what he’s doing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The rest of the evening is spent with quiet forgiveness, soft laughter, and hazy skies. </span>
  <em>
    <span>These people really are the best</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Johnny thinks, as he finishes off the last of his drink and puts his head on Wyatt’s lap. They’re the best, to forgive him like that. He doesn’t deserve it. But here they are anyway.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks for reading! i’d love to hear what you think, so feel free to leave a comment!</p><p>come hang out with me on <a href="https://soperiso.tumblr.com">tumblr!</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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